


they were people they loved

by vices_and_virtues



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Battle Royale AU, I'm not going to tag them all, but no gore, mild violence, pretty much all characters are involved, there's a character list
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-06-27
Packaged: 2018-01-26 15:31:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1693406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vices_and_virtues/pseuds/vices_and_virtues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one in the Trost High School study group ever imagined that they'd be selected to take part in the Program, a yearly event in which a class of high school students are given the choice of kill or be killed, until only one is left standing. Statistically speaking, they were three times more likely to die in a car accident than to be picked. And yet here they are.<br/>Just yesterday they'd all been normal teenagers, with quirks and hobbies and people they loved and people who loved them back. But look at them now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, here it is finally, a Battle Royale AU. It's not going to be terribly violent and no gore at all, since I'm a terrible wuss about blood and I can't handle that.  
> I'm not sure if Levi's surname still counts as a spoiler since the wiki lists him as such, but that's the only spoiler from canonverse. There may be some parallels, but no blatant spoilers. And this is ship-free, please do not ask me about ships, it is ship-free. Ship what you want, IDC.

Peering out the grimy window of the school bus, Eren Jaeger watches the lights of their town disappear. “I hate study group trips,” he mutters. “They never even get us out of school, which is pretty much the only thing field trips are good for, anyway. We always have to go after school. It’s dumb.”

Sitting next to him, Armin Arlert glances up from his pamphlet. “Feel lucky that it’s not the usual lab or business corporation or history museum,” he says simply. ”Besides, I thought you liked the river.”

“I _do_ , but I’d rather go to, like, fishing or something. Who likes studying riverside ecosystems?”

Armin smiles. "It'll be fun.” Easy for him to say, when he had loved all the trips they’d gone on, whether it was to a lab or business corporation or art museum. “We could go wading or something. Don’t dismiss it already. It’s our first overnight too, remember?”

Eren has to agree.

Study group is a mandatory club for anyone above the ninth grade who had gotten below a C on the first report card of the year, which was how Eren and most of the other sophomores had ended up stuck in it (freshmen had their own high school introduction tutoring group, which was reliant on entrance exam scores. Eren had been forced into that too, of course). The remaining students are, of course, there by choice, making it a pretty even mix of overachievers (mainly juniors and seniors, with the obvious exception of Armin), underachievers (mainly sophomores), and decent-but-not-stellar students who just wanted the extra credit (assorted). It also wasn’t separated by grade level, nor did it have more than one overseer, leaving the seniors (eight of them) as the primary tutors. Eren doesn’t _hate_ the club, per se, but he’d definitely rather be doing something else with his time.

And he _does_ hate the field trips. And while an overnight has the potential of being entertaining, they’re supposed to get to the lodge by eleven, and lights out is on arrival.

He glances back. Jean Kirschtein, Marco Bodt, and Connie Springer are squeezed into the seat right behind them (Connie’s legs are in the aisle, much to the chagrin of the driver), staring at the screen of Jean’s new (read: secondhand and maybe illegal) tablet computer while the owner of which explains something or the other about the mechanics of it. Eren doesn’t understand the terminology, nor does he really care.

Across the aisle is his adoptive sister Mikasa Ackerman, sitting with Sasha Braus. They’re flipping through a cookbook, on loan from the home ec class. Probably comparing recipes for that cooking competition they’d entered. Eren makes a mental note to ask later if they need a taster.

Eren quickly goes back to stubbornly staring out the window at the highway while Armin feeds him various facts about the particular river they’ll be spending the entirety of their precious Saturday at. Occasionally he does look over to check out a picture in Armin’s textbook or something (nerd), but for the most part, he tunes everything out, wishing he’d brought his CD player.

That’s probably why he doesn’t register anything being wrong until Armin’s head bumps against his shoulder and he looks down to see his best friend sound asleep.

He realizes after this that the bus is weirdly quiet. Looking around, he sees most everyone is asleep or getting there, slumped against windows or friends. Behind him, Jean is snoring, Marco’s head is tipped all the way back, and Connie is nearly falling out of the seat. Watching them, Eren’s own drowsiness becomes all the more apparent. Huh.

He looks at his watch. Funnily, it’s only about nine o’clock, much too early for everyone to already be nodding off. Even Mikasa is out cold, though she’s sitting straight up in her seat in a position he has a hard time imagining being comfortable. Sasha, head on her shoulder, seems to be drooling. Strange. And at the front of the school bus, the driver looks to be wearing a mask, like the kind firefighters wore. What the… what’s even going on? Eren thinks he should be scared, but the intense fatigue taking over leaves no room for fear.

Wait, but someone else is up. It’s Hanji Zoe, and she’s slamming on the window like she’s trying to break it. Eren agrees, fresh air might be nice. He starts to get up with the intention of helping, but he’s too late. Hanji’s body goes limp and she collapses back into her seat, unmoving.

Eren is still processing this turn in events when he collapses too.

* * *

_36 students remaining_


	2. Class List

Trost High School Study Group Members' List

Group Coordinator: Dot Pixis

\--

  1. Levi Ackerman––senior

  2. Mikasa Ackerman--freshman

  3. Armin Arlert--freshman

  4. Lynne Badcoke--junior

  5. Hannah Ballard--freshman

  6. Moblit Berner--junior

  7. Marco Bodt--freshman

  8. Auruo Bozado--junior

  9. Reiner Braun--sophomore

  10. Sasha Braus--freshman

  11. Rico Brzenska--senior

  12. Mina Carolina--sophomore

  13. Franz Chandler--freshman

  14. Nickolas Colton--junior

  15. Henning Derby--junior

  16. Ian Dietrich--senior

  17. Nile Dawk--senior

  18. Bertholdt Fubar--sophomore

  19. Erd Gin--junior

  20. Keiji Himura--junior

  21. Eren Jaeger--freshman

  22. Jean Kirschtein--freshman

  23. Ymir Langnar--sophomore

  24. Christa Lenz--sophomore

  25. Annie Leonhart--sophomore

  26. John "Goggles" Lyndon--junior

  27. Gerger Mulrennan--senior

  28. Nanaba Purser--senior

  29. Petra Ral--junior

  30. Anka Rheinberger--senior

  31. Gunther Schulz--junior

  32. Erwin Smith--senior

  33. Connie Springer--freshman

  34. Mike Zacharias--senior

  35. Nifa Zidane--junior

  36. Hanji Zoe--senior




	3. and now, the rules

When Levi Ackerman wakes up, he thinks for a minute that he’s back in school. Looking around, though, he sees that that’s not possible. The first thing that hits him is that the windows are all covered in dark sheets of metal.

Around him are his study group mates, all passed out in their seats, still in their school tracksuits (the required uniform for trips). Most of his friends/classmates are scattered throughout the room, which is weird; in study group they sat by grade level, but there are Erwin, Mike, and Hanji clear across the room, while Mikasa Ackerman is seated right behind him. It looks like they’ve been arranged in alphabetical order. Weird.

The last thing he remembers is being on the bus on the way to some riverside campsite and then… like, falling asleep or something. He doesn’t really know. Looking at his watch, he sees that it’s one o’clock on Saturday. Whether it’s one in the morning or afternoon, though, he doesn’t know.

Something else feels off too--something other than being in an unknown place with boarded up windows and unconscious classmates. He studies the others for almost a full minute until he realizes what it is.

They’re all wearing silver collars.

Levi had only just reached for the one around his own neck when the door at the front of the room opens and three men enter, two of whom look like soldiers and are holding shotguns and a large black bag between them. He stares at the last unarmed man for a long minute, feeling uncomfortable but not quite knowing why. The man stares back, and the look on his face tells Levi he should definitely recognize him.

But then the man shrugs idly, like it doesn’t matter much either way, and claps once. “Everyone up?” His voice, while loud, has the low rough quality of a chain smoker. The confused murmuring takes a minute to completely die down, but the room is quiet soon enough. “We’re already behind schedule now, so let’s get right in. The reason you’re all here is because your class has been selected for this year’s Program.”

It’s like someone had just sucked all the air from the room. Levi wants to throw up. Next to him, Marco Bodt’s eyes widen almost comically. Auruo’s face has gone slack. Someone--he doesn’t bother turning around to see--gasps, they actually fucking _gasp_.

They all know what the Program is. It had come into practice more than a hundred years ago, under the guise of keeping what was left of the country together and maintaining their independence. Levi doesn’t know the specifics or history of it, since the Program itself wasn’t publicized, and no one ever even learned what happened until after the fact, when the winner emerged (and even that was just broadcast locally). What he does know is that each year, for the last hundred and three years, thirty classes of forty students--ten classes a province--were selected to die by the hands of their classmates. Around twelve hundred students dead each year. Chances of any particular student being picked were something like one in one thousand. Statistically speaking, he was three times more likely to die in a car accident. But here he is.

“Excuse me? Excuse me?” Levi twists around in his seat to see Nile Dawk standing next to his desk with his hand half raised. Like many of the others, he looks a little hysterical. “Sir, there must have been some kind of mistake.” His voice tremors slightly. “The Program usually chooses classes of freshman. We’re just a study group, most of us aren’t even in the same grade. And seniors are _always_ exempt. This… it doesn’t make sense.”

The man at the front of the room looks at Nile silently for a long bit. “Nile Dawk, aren’t you?” he says finally.

“Yes, sir.”

“Kaney Ackerman.” The man looks around the class. “You all got that?”

Levi feels his classmates’ eyes on him and probably Mikasa, and because of that, he refuses to turn, not even when he feels Mikasa tug slightly on the back of his jacket. Now he _knows_ he should recognize this man, but he forces any budding memories back down to focus on the task at hand.

“Now.” Kaney crosses his arms and leans back against the desk. “You’re a smart kid, I assume--you co-preside your class with Erwin Smith. So you know there’s no such thing as true equality. There will _always_ be someone smarter or dumber, stronger or weaker. That’s why we humans are considered social animals--we rely on each other simply because there is always someone better to do the work and someone worse to make the mistakes. You’re right, single classes are usually chosen, and seniors are usually exempt--if only because you’ve just been educated to usefulness and it’d be idiotic to have you kill each other. But anyway. You see, the members of your study group aren’t equal to each other on any level at all. So what better way to showcase everyone’s lack of equality than with you guys?” He waves his hand dismissively. “You can sit down now.”

“But…” Nile actually sounds a little irked. “There aren’t even any freshman in this class. And what about our parents? And Mr. Pixis, the group coordinator… he knows this isn’t right and he wouldn’t have let it happen.”

“Any parents who protested were beaten or killed, so let’s hope yours didn’t,” Kaney says calmly. “As for your teacher…” He beckons to the soldiers, who drag the bag out from behind the desk and rip it open, displaying its contents for everyone to see.

Someone shrieks. Levi’s urge to vomit grows.

Their chaperone’s mangled bloody body is inside. Half of his face is pretty much gone, a broken mess. Levi can see it up close and personal. Oh God.

More people begin to scream--he can hear Rico Brzenska’s vaguely irritated sounding exclamation over it all, which means she’s trying not to cry--and Kaney snaps his fingers a few times. “Quiet!” he yells. “Quiet!”

Levi isn’t even listening, so when one of the soldiers lifts his shotgun and opens fire on Pixis’s body, he barely manages to shut his eyes and clamp his mouth closed before the bloody mist sprays out, splattering over him and the other students unlucky enough to be seated in the front row.

The room is silent.

“Your teacher objected, so he was killed,” Kaney says flatly. “He had some pretty suspect loyalties anyway. No--you there! Hey!” From the top of the desk he snatches something and throws it. Levi whips around to see what has happened, then immediately wishes he hadn’t.

Sasha Braus’s expression is frozen in shock and horror, but worse is Lynne, who’d been leaning into the aisle, presumably to whisper something. A blade is imbedded in her temple just above her ear, and her hand, shaking, comes up to touch the handle. A second later, she collapses out of her seat. Her body lands with a solid thump on the floor, right by Sasha’s feet.

At the back of the room, Nanaba screams, Henning already at Lynne's side, having leapt over desks to get there, and shouting, "Lynne? Lynnie!"

Those are his last words.

Nanaba rises after this, but Petra, sitting behind her, grabs a handful of her sweatshirt and yanks her back, while Gerger, in front, twists around and pushes her into her seat. For a second that feels like an eternity, the three of them teeter precariously, desks and all. Then, suddenly, they regain their balance and Nanaba is seated again.

"Two rules," Kaney says as if he hadn't just thrown a knife into one student and ordered the shooting of another. "One, no talking. Two, stay in your seat until I say you may leave. If you can all follow these rules, then maybe we can start the game without losing any more players."

Under the desk, Levi digs his nails into his palm. Once again, the classroom is totally silent. No one’s going to try anything now.

"If you'll let me continue, I was going to explain the purpose of the silver collars you all wear. First and foremost, they are a tracking device. This island has been evacuated for the purpose of the Program. On the maps you will each be provided with, the island is divided up into a grid. Four times a day, every six hours during the announcements, one square will be designated as a forbidden location. You will have one hour to get out, else your collar will explode. The ocean, of course, if already forbidden. And dead students don’t matter.” He raises his eyebrows. “I hope you’re all good with maps.”

No one says anything and he goes on. “During the announcements, you’ll also receive news of which of your classmates have died in the last six hours. And on like this until there is only one of you left and we have our winner. But if twenty-four hours pass at any time without a death, all of your collars will explode, and there will be no winner.

“During the game, you may do whatever you like as long as you follow these rules. Do you understand?”

Still no one responds.

“Good. Now then.” Kaney starts down the rows, distributing a piece of paper and a pencil to the remaining students. It does not escape Levi’s notice of how casually he steps over Lynne and Henning’s bodies. “I’m sure you’re all thinking that you can’t just kill your classmates. But please know, thousands of other classes before you have done it; only a dozen or so games have expired from the time limit. But just to be sure you all have the basic principle down, write this down three times; _We will kill each other_.”

Levi is tempted to rebel, but after seeing Lynne killed without warning for something as minor as whispering, he knows not to test this man’s patience. He picks up the pencil and does what he’d been asked. The room is silent except for the the scratching sound of the others writing.

“You all have that? Now; _If I don’t kill, I will be killed_. Three times too. Quickly, we’re falling behind schedule.”

This is slightly harder to put down, but Levi does it anyway.

“We're about ready to start, so now it's time for dismissal procedures." Kaney comes around to tap on Levi's desk. "You will be released in alphabetical order, one student every two minutes. To keep us on schedule, anyone lollygagging in the halls will be shot. You will come to the front to collect your bag. In it you’ll find a map, some crackers and water, a watch if you don’t already have one, and a weapon. The weapons are completely randomized. A little more inequality, if you will. You’ll also have whatever you put in your overnight bags.”

Levi, still stuck on the alphabetical order thing, glances back. There isn’t any rule against waiting outside the door, but that doesn’t matter anyway. Most of the people he knows for sure he can trust are much further down the roll call and wouldn’t be dismissed for at least an hour after he has, much too long for him to stand around outside. Auruo Bozado is closest to him, but that would still be a fifteen-minute wait, and Levi doesn’t think he wants to risk that. He doesn’t know if there’s anywhere to hide just outside the door, and if he goes too far he risks losing Auruo or catching the attention of another student. One who is willing to play.

He considers Mikasa Ackerman and Armin Arlert for only a second before dismissing them as well. Mikasa is okay, but he doesn’t trust Arlert. He’s too smart, too calculating, too much like Erwin (and if Levi hadn’t known Erwin for six years, no way in hell would he trust him either). And of course, there’s no way Mikasa would be willing to leave Armin behind just to make Levi comfortable.

Now that he thinks about it, maybe he shouldn’t trust Mikasa either. Despite being first cousins, their relationship is spotty at best. Though they both know that his mother had refused to take her in after her parents had been murdered despite being kin, which had forced her to move in with the Jaegers instead, they don’t talk about it. Levi knows his mother's refusal hadn't come from callousness but from fear. Mikasa’s parents being targeted meant exactly that; they’d been targeted, despite living way out in Shiganshina, much too far for any government official to want to have bothered. If she’d come to live with Levi and his mother, that would have pinned an even bigger target on all their backs. _Three Ackermans under one roof? Hmm. Better kill them al_ l.

Then she’d moved to Trost from Shiganshina after the so-called terrorist attacks, and her not moving in with them had pretty much been for nothing.

But Mikasa doesn’t know that. Levi’s pretty sure she doesn’t even know his father had been killed too, maybe even by the same people. And the Program isn’t a prime time to explain anything. Especially not something like that.

 _So_ , he decides, _I guess I’m on my own._

When Kaney finally calls his name, Levi picks up his bag and goes to the front of the room to get his daypack. When he is finally given permission to leave, he goes out the door into the dark hallway without looking back at his class once.

* * *

_34 students remaining_


	4. one by one, they left

After watching his best friend walk out the door, Jean Kirschtein closes his eyes and wonders what the hell he’s going to do.

Marco is loyal, but he’s not dumb. Jean knows there’s no way he’d wait, not for close to an hour when a dozen other armed students would be following. But Jean also knows that his best bet at not dying immediately would be to find an ally. But there isn’t anyone around him he’d feel confident in approaching. He’d just seen Hannah throw a note onto her not-boyfriend’s desk, and Franz had only just managed to grab it before Kaney noticed. Jean can’t try something like that, though; Hannah had been able to because she had to walk in front of Franz’s desk to get to the door, but Jean isn’t walking past any of his friends, except _maybe_ Eren Jaeger--who's leaving before him anyway.

Turning around to double check for anyone he could wait for, he locks eyes with Ymir Langnar, who sits right behind him. She raises her eyebrows expectantly and even _smirks_ , like she knows exactly what he’s thinking. He faces forward again, heart pounding. _What the hell was that_?

Despite Ymir having moved to their town from Europe almost five years ago, Jean doesn’t know her well on a personal level, but what he does know is enough to make him wary. She’d arrived in Trost way back in fifth grade with her older cousin, Ilse, a reporter or an author or some shit like that. They hadn’t intended on staying for more than a month, just long enough for Ilse to build a foundation on some project. But then those terrorist attacks had happened, the government went on lockdown, the customs process was screwed up, and no one but high-ranking officials had been let in or out of the country since.

Just her being from somewhere outside was enough to draw people to her (none of them, Jean included, had ever met anyone not born inside the Walls) despite her abrasive and frankly rude personality. But other than showing off her mastery of multiple languages, she refused to talk about her life back at wherever she was from, or what exactly she and Ilse had been doing here anyway. She was even dodgy about which of the languages she spoke was her native one, and her accent was vague enough (or they were all sheltered enough) that it didn’t hint at anything either.

Being unusually loud mouthed about the restrictions that everyone else had grown up with and had long since even stopped registering was also a breath of fresh air. When Armin Arlert (Armin _Arlert_ , for Pete’s sake) had nearly been sent to a detention center back in seventh grade after downloading a couple foreign movies his parents (who had been out of the country at the time of the lockdown, and are currently somewhere in Australia) had recommended, Ymir had scoffed, stated that where she was from, downloading movies was easy as pie and she never knew anyone who was arrested, “especially not someone like Arlert.” Armin wasn’t sent away, thankfully, but Jean is pretty sure that was when Ymir, without even really trying, started to encourage awareness and skepticism regarding the bullshit they’d been fed from day one. Some kids were more upfront about it than others (Jean, for example, had taken and turned his interest in computers into a surprising knack for hacking), but all in all, Trost High School’s tenth grade class took pride in their collective self-awareness and questioning ability. And it was all thanks to Ymir.

 _But_ , Jean thinks as he recalls that weird look she’d just given him, _suppose that’s why our class was chosen for this? The government does say that thinking like ours is dangerous. Maybe that’s why they chose us, and killed Mr. Pixis. They knew we were thinking of breaking out of this, maybe even of revolting. Can’t have that, can they. Maybe this is Ymir’s fault. Weird how she encourages us to think all these silly laws and restrictions are bullshit, yet never wants to talk about why, or what we should do. She just plants the idea and lets us water it. Weird._

God, he really hopes this isn’t Ymir’s fault. Or any of their faults, for that matter. He’d actually rather chalk it up to Kaney Ackerman’s bullshit explanation than for their study group to have been chosen because it was filled with a bunch of budding political dissenters. Or, in Jean’s case, children honing their skills to do straight up illegal activities like hacking. Sure, the worst thing he’d ever done was break onto blocked sites like YouTube or whatever, and sometimes pirate foreign movies for Armin and occasionally even Ymir, but _still_. Even his tablet isn’t entirely legal, since he’d had it shipped from outside the Walls under his college professor uncle’s name (without his uncle’s permission) under the guise of “educational purposes.”

_Fuck._

He glances around at the remaining seniors, all wearing identical hard emotionless masks, not exactly the faces of people to approach and trust. But then again, this must suck doubly so for them, since they’d all been promised safety upon graduating eleventh grade and had no doubt already begun the process of applying to and scouting colleges. But here they are, chosen for no reason other than wanting to study and tutor for a couple of hours after school.

Sitting right next to him, Nanaba Purser stares at Kaney, the hatred simmering in her blue eyes a stark contrast to the calmness of her expression. Jean can’t blame her. He hadn’t known Lynne or Henning well, since they were two years older and he only really saw them after school, but he’d liked them enough. Lynne had been optimistic bordering on perky, and very thoughtful and caring. He’d actually seen her leaning across the aisle to try to comfort Sasha, and he’d also seen what happened after. Henning had been kind of quiet, but he’d been good with computers, and had given Jean some pointers in study group a couple of times, once even bringing his laptop to school to explain and demonstrate a couple of things. Yeah, he’d definitely liked them.

He notices Lynne's mouth is slightly open, and he can see even from here the silver gleam of her braces reflecting off the fluorescent lights. He wonders when she was supposed to be getting them off. He guesses it doesn’t matter anymore.

He can’t imagine how shitty Sasha must feel. Kaney calls her name now, and Jean watches as she carefully steps over the corpses at her feet, picks up her duffel, and goes to the front to collect her daypack. There’s blood splattered across the left side of her neck and face––Henning’s blood––but somehow she manages to keep her composure, eyes sweeping over the room as she stands in the doorway, waiting for her cue to leave. Jean almost is tempted to wave or something, but he’s afraid to, not even just for himself, because if Kaney throws a knife into him for it, that’s another death Sasha will have on her conscience. Not to mention it’d be morbid as hell; you can’t thumbs up people after being told you have to kill your classmates. So he gives her a kind of half-smile instead, lifting his finger slightly in a goodbye.

Sasha’s expression, formerly tense and even scared, softens a tad, and that’s the last he sees of her before she turns to leave. Like the others before her, her footsteps echo for a few moments before fading into silence.

Exactly two minutes later, Rico Brzenska’s name is called and she stands immediately. As she goes to the front of the room, Jean sees that she’d pulled a Hannah, and has just dropped a note in Ian Dietrich’s lap. Once again, Kaney does not notice, and sends her on her (not so) merry way.

While Jean has no problem believing that Hannah and Franz only want to meet up to spend their last days together, Rico and Ian is a slightly more unnerving combination, for reasons he can’t quite pin down. Ian’s face doesn’t change at all upon reading the note. Really, really weird.

Over the next twenty minutes, no one else does any note passing, not even Mina Carolina, although she’d walked right past Annie Leonhart’s desk. It’s Jean’s turn now.

The walk to the front of the room is just as unsettling as he’d figured it’d be. Kaney hands him a daypack--heavier than he would have thought, and for a fleeting moment Jean hopes it’s because he’d gotten a good weapon, maybe a gun. He immediately feels bad for thinking that, but then rationalizes that yeah, he doesn’t want to kill anyone but there’s still self-defense to consider. Self-defense requires a good weapon. And the better the weapon the quicker the death, right? He doesn’t want anyone to suffer, after all.

Going down the hallway is almost worse. It’s almost completely dark except for a lit side room near the end, but when Jean peeks in, he sees it’s filled with soldiers, even more heavily armed than those in the classroom.

 _Anyone lollygagging in the halls will be shot_. Jean quickens his pace, only slowing when he finally reaches the door. He looks back down the long hallway one more time before he takes a deep breath and pushes it open.

The first thing he notes is how high and bright the moon is in the sky.

The second is Eren Jaeger.

* * *

_34 students remaining_


	5. first night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The students have just been released, and the first night has started.

Perched carefully on a structure of rocks, Hannah Ballard swings her long, gangly legs idly. She’s not worried about being seen; she’d managed to tuck her body into a particularly large space the rocks provided (read: not very large at all, barely big enough for her to fit), and doubts anyone not looking for her would notice. And she doubts anyone is looking.

Below her, tossed carelessly at her feet, are her duffel and daypack. She hadn’t bothered opening the daypack yet, other than to retrieve the map in the outside pocket; opening the daypack means acknowledging the weapon, and acknowledging the weapon means acknowledging this game, and not acknowledging the game is the biggest form dissent she can show right now.

Not to mention what’s about to happen.

She’s at the far west side of the island, hidden amongst the trees that go all the way down to the edge of the beach. She’d asked Franz to meet her here in the form of a note, scribbled at the bottom of the sheet of paper on which she had written that she would kill her classmates, then folded up very small and tossed onto his desk when she’d passed in front of him, timed carefully for minimal witnesses. And when she’d first seen her map, seconds after stepping outside in the cool night air, she’d been especially pleased to find that the western shore had been a respectable distance from the school, far enough that they could stay for the most part uninvolved with anything or anyone. But once they met up, they could move around a bit, find somewhere better to settle. The whole island is a village, so there are plenty of empty homes they could find.

Hannah doesn’t much care that only one can leave, making alliances rather pointless in the long run. She knows she doesn’t have a chance of winning, and she doesn’t even want to, not if her survival comes at the cost of everyone else’s. She doesn’t want to do that. She can’t kill her classmates. All she wants to do is spend the last days of her life with the only person here she’s sure she loves (only as a best friend, of course), then maybe she can die happy and feeling loved too. This isn’t an alliance, because she’s sure Franz doesn’t want to play either. This is just a partnership with an inevitable end.

It’s not that Hannah doesn’t trust her study group not to descend into anarchy, but Kaney Ackerman (what was up with him, anyway?) had a point. Thousands of other classes had clearly been willing, and they all had the added disadvantage of playing against just their classmates. Most of Hannah’s classmates are still safe and snug back in Trost, while nearly half of the people here on the island are people she’d only see after school and had only spoken to about, like, algebra or grammar or something. She doesn’t know anything about them. And while that doesn’t necessarily mean they’re willing to kill, it also doesn’t mean they aren’t.

It’s just not fair, any of it.

She can see the ocean from here, her first time ever on a real beach. The air is heavy with the smell of salt. It’s a pretty spot, and makes her think of what she’s missing. The riverside field trip was supposed to be a lot of fun; the highlight of the year. She’d been looking forward to it for a week, even despite Eren Jaeger’s pissing and moaning about the added coursework whenever it was brought up.

Eren’s weird.

Hannah tries to stop thinking about any of that. It’s just depressing. It’s been nearly twenty minutes by this point, which means Franz should be released soon, if not already. Once they’re together, she can stop worrying. Everything--well, not everything, not even close to everything--will be okay.

Another fifteen minutes pass before she hears two gunshots in quick succession. She sits up, heart pounding. Franz should have been released by now. He should be making his way over here by now.

“Franz?” she whispers, loudly as she dares. She wriggles out of her hiding place and drops to the ground. Her back scrapes against the rock as it snags the back of her jacket, but she hardly feels it. She considers her daypack for only a second before deciding against it. She doesn’t want to kill.

Instead, she heads toward where she’d heard the shots. Once again, it’s quiet. She doesn’t dare call out again. The trees around her start to thicken and she’s having a hard time seeing now. Before, this trek hadn’t been nearly as terrifying, since only three other students had left before her. But now… almost half the class is roaming the island now, and at least one person--with a _gun_ \--is very, very close by.

Hannah is trying hard not to think. So when she sees the body, it takes her longer than it really should before she realizes it’s a body. By then, she’s standing right over it. Him. Franz.

Hannah had never screamed so loud in her life.

Then she drops to her knees and begins CPR.

“Come on,” she says, voice thick with tears. “Franz, baby, come on. Come on.” Mouth-to-mouth is only recommended in cases of drowning, but Franz isn’t waking up and Hannah is desperate.

Holding his face in her hands, his skin is still warm. If his skin is warm that means he’s alive, doesn’t it? Or he can be revived, at least? God.

The scariest thing is his eyes, which aren’t quite closed all the way. His lids don’t move, and his expression is almost calm, if it weren’t for his slightly raised brows. She knows in her heart he’s dead. She starts to cry, resting her head on his chest and sobbing. She’d never told him she loved him. She’d never told him she loved him.

Hannah, you have to leave, a voice whispers. You can’t mean to die here with him.

“Why not?” Hannah demands, lifting her head and clenching her teeth. “Why not? I’m going to die soon anyway. Why can’t it be here?”

“...if that’s what you want.”

“Yes,” she sobs. “Yes.”

She’s so preoccupied that she doesn’t realize the last comment had been spoken aloud--that, actually, they all had. But she does, she stiffens slightly, pausing in her crying to let out a long breath.

“I’m sorry,” the voice adds, and Hannah turns.

There’s a bullet through her head before she can even open her mouth to gasp.

* * *

When Eren sees the large Smith & Wesson gun Jean pulls out of his pack, then back at the small double-edged dagger in his own hand, it occurs to him that maybe this alliance wasn’t the best decision on his part.

Surprisingly, though, Jean merely looks at the weapon in disgust and puts it aside in favor of continuing to dig through his duffel. He mutters a curse.

“My tablet’s gone,” he says. “Shit, I hope they didn’t confiscate it.”

“Why?” Eren asks, voice dripping with contempt. Here they are about to kill each other, and Jean’s more concerned about his stupid tablet. Priorities. “Anything illegal on there?”

He doesn’t really care about keeping quiet; they’re in the woods way out behind the school, and Eren doubts many others would have risked staying so close to a soon-to-be forbidden area, not with the threat of an exploding collar. Eren hadn’t even wanted to risk it, but Jean had insisted.

Though, Eren thinks as he eyes the gun again, with something like that, Jean shouldn’t have to worry about running across others.

Jean’s glaring at him. “Not _particularly_ ,” he snaps. “But in case you weren’t aware, my tablet has Internet. And I’ve gotten onto blocked sites before. I might be able to figure out how to disable these stupid collars with that.” He sits back on his heels. “Marco was using it last. If they actually let me keep it, it probably got mixed in with his stuff.” Jean rolls his eyes. “Fucking idiot barely even knows how to use the thing.”

“Marco can’t use a tablet? Or is anyone not as ‘tech-savvy’ as you an idiot?”

“ _Yes_.” Jean doesn’t seem to have picked up on the sarcasm. “At any rate, Marco would have no fucking use for it. What’s he gonna do, _Eren_ , play Tetris Friends during the childmurder games?”

“I don’t know, _Jean_ , what _is_ he going to––”

Two gunshots cut him off, and he ducks.

* * *

Mina Carolina runs her fingers over the cool glossy cover of a comic book and shudders.

She’s standing in the bedroom of one of the houses on the island. When she left the school, she’d sprinted straight through the parking lot, terrified of being ambushed if she went through the woods. That route ended up taking her to a residential neighborhood, and she’d realized that settling down in a house was a pretty good idea, all things considered. At least until the morning, when she could stop stumbling around in the dark.

Unfortunately, most of the population seemed to have locked their doors before leaving. She’d tried three houses before coming to this one. Increasingly desperate, she’d come to this house, climbed over the fence to the backyard and smashed a window on the back door to reach in and unlock it. Then she’d shut and locked the outer storm door behind her (it hadn’t been locked when she came, thank God), which she’d figured should both hide her entry and keep anyone else from entering that way.

But despite her relative safety for the time being, she’d gone straight upstairs. And straight to this room, where she’d been camped out for almost two hours. It’s just past four AM now.

The room probably belonged--belongs--to a boy, maybe her age. The curtains are open and people on this island apparently don’t have blinds, so the light from the streetlights outside is enough that she can see okay. The kid’s things are scattered all over the room--clothes and books and such. The bed is unmade, sneakers tossed carelessly in a corner. The neatest part of the whole room is the desk, stacked with comics. It’s nice. She draws her hand back.

It’s so unsettling standing here, she thinks. Obviously this island was inhabited, but actually standing here, amidst such obvious, mudane signs of life is… creepy, to say the least. It’s hard not to wonder what had happened to the people that had lived here. Most likely, they’d just been moved to some temporary housing on the mainland, but… looking around, it must have been very fast. They must not have had any time to prepare.

 _Maybe some people even died_ , she realizes. _Maybe they weren’t moving fast enough, or tried to take too much, or complained_ …

The sound of glass breaking cuts her thoughts short. Her head snaps up, her heart stops and her blood runs cold.

 _Someone’s inside_.

 _What to do, what to do?_ It just depends, doesn’t it? If the student is actually looking for her (she should have done a better job of hiding the broken glass pane), then she needs to get out. If they’d just had the same idea as she, and is just looking for a place to hide, then maybe the best thing to do would be to stay put. _What to do?_

She should try to get out. If they’re looking for her, they’ll find her eventually, and she’ll be dead. If she moves around, maybe she’ll at least have a chance of getting the jump on whoever it is.

Yeah.

She grips the large kitchen knife in her hand. Her supplied weapon had been a set of darts, and Mina’s aim is shit, forcing her to look for a more useful object. But only to use in situations of self-defense.

She doesn’t want to kill. But if it comes down to it, maybe.

It’s funny (funny-weird), but edging out of the room into the hall reminds her of the last time Annie had slept over at her house, just two weeks ago. It had been the middle of the night and they’d been watching real horror movies for several hours, as was custom for them, when Annie had uttered those despairing words: “I have to pee.” It was just moments after the climax of the film, when she knew full well the upstairs bathroom was off limits due to plumbing issues.

Imagining Annie standing next to her now, holding her hand and fidgeting, is comforting, but only slightly. Mina is still terrified out of her wits. She’s not in her house now, she’s in the Program. Another child is here with her, and they might even be looking for her. Ready to kill her. She has to get out. She grips the knife tighter. Whoever is downstairs, she can’t hear them moving around. But again, Mina doesn’t know what that means. Are they quiet because they don’t want her to know they’re looking, or is it just basic caution?

At any rate, she has to be that much quieter. She goes to each of the three bedrooms and finds no escape routes; no porch roofs to climb on, or tree branches to grab. Nothing to try without risking breaking her neck.

So the only way out is down. She’s biting her lip so hard it bleeds, but she hardly feels it. Going down the stairs is like prolonged torture. Her heart is beating so loud she’s sure someone must be able to hear it. Breathing is terrifying. She feels lightheaded.

Her fingers tighten around the handle.

Back on the first floor, the situation feels even more surreal. There’s the broken window, looking out onto another home. Making her way around, she imagines the family that had lived here watching her from the living room sofas. A classic horror movie, she thinks. The young girl evades the killer. The killer who, incidentally, is another young girl or boy.

Maybe the boy who lives here likes horror movies. Maybe, if he were watching, he’d be rooting for her.

Mina glances over her shoulder, sensing a nearby presence but seeing nothing. _Just get back to the kitchen_ , she assures herself, staying close to the wall. _Get to the kitchen, and you’ll be safe. Just a few more feet, and you’ll be safe_.

She isn’t safe.

Someone is standing in the kitchen with their back to her. Maybe it’s too dark, or she’s too detached, but she can’t recognize them as anything past a dark silhouette. Short-haired and medium-height, but that could literally be anyone. She doesn’t know.

Mina stands in the doorway of the kitchen, perfectly still. She raises the knife. She can see the glint of a gun in their hand. They turn around, and she can’t react.

They move too fast.

* * *

“Holy sh––” Jean stumbles back, grabbing their things and hitting the ground again. “Fu––”

Without thinking, Eren stands. “Stop!” he shouts. “Stop it, I know none of us want to––” Then he’s on the ground too, Jean’s arm braced across his chest and hand pressed over his mouth.

“Shut up,” he hisses. “Don’t move.”

Eren tries to wriggle away, but a third shot convinces him that maybe staying put is a good idea. It’s too dark to see, but he thinks the bullet might have hit where his chest was only moments before. The fourth shot comes less than a minute later, and it definitely sounds closer.

Quickly, Jean scrambles for his bag, dumping it out and picking up the Smith & Wesson to hold in both hands. Eren can hear his teeth chattering, but he still manages to hold the big gun steady, aiming it where the shots had come. He doesn’t ever shoot, just stays frozen on one knee, his shoulders shaking and breath coming in small uneven gasps, for what feels like forever.

Then Jean sniffs loudly and shakes his head, breaking the spell.

“I think they’re gone,” he whispers. “Shit. I––fuck. Fuck.” He drops the gun and presses his hands to his face. “Fuck. I’m done. I’m fucking done.”

Eren sits up. Even in the low light, he can see how pale Jean is, and crawls over to join him. “Listen––” he starts, but anything he had considered saying immediately dries up on his tongue when Jean drops his hands and glares at him. Even in the low light, his eyes glow with anger.

“Rule number one of this alliance, Jaeger,” he says scathingly, shoving him in the shoulder. “We do not try to make friends with people taking potshots at us!”

Eren stiffens, flaring up. Any shame he had felt is gone now. “These are our friends, Jean!” he spits. “We aren’t going to kill them! We aren’t killing anyone!”

“And you think I _want_ to? I’ve never touched a gun in my fucking _life_ , let alone fired one! How the hell do you expect me to aim one of these things at my friends? But you know what, Jaeger? I’ll do it if it means I can defend myself.”

Eyes burning, Eren glares at him and turns away. He’d always known Jean was an asshole, but he didn’t think he would actually be okay with this. This stupid game has only just started and he’s already freaking out.

Behind him, Jean sighs. “Dude, are you crying?” he asks, sounding irritated. “Stop.”

Eren furiously wipes at his eyes. “I’m not,” he mutters. “I should have known better than to team up with you.”

“Well, you didn't know better,” Jean snaps, throwing his overnight bag and supplied daypack over his shoulder. “And we both need someone to watch our backs. But if you want to back out now, be my guest.”

Eren is suddenly reminded of an experience he’d had five years ago. Shiganshina had just been bombed, his mom was dead, his dad missing, and he and Mikasa now lived in a home for orphaned kids on the former army base the Shiganshina survivors had been located to.

Life on the base sucked for everyone, but especially for the kids in that group home. There was never enough food or clothes or even blankets to go around, and a bunch of orphans weren’t at the top of anyone’s list. And a week after they’d started their new life, Mikasa got sick, and according to the hushed tones of the adult caretakers and the doctor standing outside the door of his shared room, was going to die.

Shortly after overhearing that conversation, Eren slipped out of bed and made his way to her room. He hadn’t caught more than a glimpse of her in two days. And looking at her then, sweating buckets yet shivering, with her breathing light and fast, Eren had no problem believing that yeah, she was probably going to die.

So he took her hand, damp and hot in his, and somehow, she opened her eyes, though he’d been told she hadn’t woken up in two days. She’d looked right at him, eyes bloodshot and glassy, and she’d said, “Mom?”

And Eren hadn’t known if she meant her own mother or their shared mother, but it hadn’t mattered because they were both dead, and Eren knew in that moment that Mikasa couldn’t die.

So he’d whispered, very quietly, “Mikasa, you have to fight. If you’re gonna live, you’ll have to fight.” He’d squeezed her hand. “They say you’re gonna die, so prove them wrong.”

And she’d just closed her eyes again. But she didn’t die.

It’s one of his most vivid memories.

_You can only live if you win. You can only win if you fight._

Eren’s not sure he wants to win. But he’ll fight.

He wonders how Mikasa and Armin are doing. He wants to see them again, at least. Hopefully they’ll fight long enough for that to happen. Then they can figure something out.

“I’m not backing out,” he says to Jean finally.

* * *

He swears it was an accident. Nickolas Colton swears it was an accident.

He’d just been really freaked, ever since he stepped out of that school. And he’d run all the way over here, and smashed the window of the first house that looked suitable and easy-access. It hadn’t occurred to him that anyone else could have gotten in.

Looking around for escape routes in case worst came to worst and someone had followed him (breaking the window had made such a huge noise, loud enough that he’d actually considered going back), he’d come to the kitchen. That’s when he’d noticed the glass on the floor in front of the back door. _I’m not alone in here_. And slowly looking around, his eyes had fallen on the knife block on the counter, sans one big black handle. _And they’re armed._

The fear then had been so bad he’d nearly passed out; dizziness, vision fading, chills, that whole deal. He’d just started at the knife block, unable to move, when he’d heard a sound behind him. Or really, he hadn’t heard anything, but had rather just sensed it.

It was like being on autopilot, what happened next; he’d turned around, removing his gun from the holster at his waist, and when he saw the dark silhouette in the doorway, he’d shot without even hesitating.

The gun had made the loudest noise, and the recoil had made him reel. The person hadn’t moved, hadn’t even flinched, but had just gone down without a sound.

“Jesus… fuck.” Back in the present, Nick drops the gun and rushes to their side, but there’s no point. He sees she’s a girl now, and it takes a second for her name to come to him--Mina. Mina Carolina. One of the sophomores. He’d spoken to her maybe twice.

She’s just lying there, her eyes still open, expression blank and unreadable. He’d shot her next to her mouth, and the left side of her face has collapsed in a red mess. Jesus.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He wants to do something, anything, but he doesn’t want to touch her. He shrinks away. He can’t help her anyway, she’s dead. Man, he actually killed her. He killed someone. Even if she’d planned on killing him too, that doesn’t change the fact that he pulled the trigger without even attempting to reach a compromise.

He’s killed someone. Nick Colton is a murderer.

He doesn’t want to stay here anymore. So with one last look at her body--he _wants_ to _help_ \--he picks up his gun and bags and leaves.

* * *

“It would have been nice if we had some sort of way to contact Anka,” Rico Brzenska mutters, ripping up a leaf before sighing.

Ian Dietrich glances at her and nods. “Yeah,” he agrees softly. But she was seated too far away for either of them to be able to get a note over.

Rico only sat one row over and behind him, and so as she passed she tossed a tightly folded sheet of paper directly into his lap without once taking her eyes off Kaney Ackerman. Ian hadn’t opened it until he’d been released into the cool night air. It had said, very simply in Rico’s tiny, all caps handwriting, “BEHIND THE SCHOOL.”

Ian had gone around back and there she’d been, tucked between the dumpster and dirty brick facade of the building. “Good idea,” he’d whispered; he hadn’t even considered going behind the school, instead concerned with getting as far away as possible when it involved his head being blown off. And he figures the rest of the class had the same instinct.

So here they are, deep in the woods behind the school, probably a couple hundred yards out. Ian doubts they’ll encounter anyone else for a while, which is for the best.

This entire thing just… is terrible, basically. He doesn’t want to die, but he doesn’t want to kill anyone either, of course, especially not one of his classmates or some sniveling 15-year-old he’d never spoken to.

His supplied weapon is a revolver. Rico had gotten a twelve-inch double-edged knife (which looked more like a sword than anything), which she’d been holding when he’d found her. Both weapons are tossed on the ground before them now.

“We were supposed to be safe, anyway,” Rico goes on. “Make it to twelfth grade, and congrats, you now have a chance to be a useful member of society. Unless we decide to kill you for something else.” She closes her eyes. “It’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair.” Ian scowls at their shiny new murder toys. “But I’d rather get killed for anti-government activities than be thrown into a deathmatch.”

“The childmurder games,” Rico replies, using the unofficial but widely known civilian-coined term for the Program. “This is going to be a hellish week.”

“Or couple hours.” Ian can’t forget for a second that there’s a decent chance they’ll be dead by tonight. He touches his collar.

They fall into silence at that. He finds himself just looking at her, sitting crosslegged and slouching. If Rico dies, he’s out, he decides. He can’t imagine her dying, but he can’t imagine getting out of this either. If she dies, he’s out.

“I hate this,” she eventually says, and he nods again.  “This--” Then she goes still, and tips her head. “Did you hear that?” She’s whispering now, opening her eyes. “Listen.”

Ian obeys, and then he hears it too. Voices, close ones. Way too close.

Very slowly, he reaches for the gun. Rico gives him a look, one part alarmed and two parts, “What the hell are you doing?” He raises a finger in an “I’ve got this” sort of gesture. Then he shoots twice.

Just downward into the bushes and just experimentally, in part to determine their location and in part to scare them off. But then someone starts shouting, something like, “Stop it!”

He exchanges a curious look with Rico. Sounds like Eren Jaeger. She nods and he shoots again, uncaring about giving away their own location or wasting ammunition (he’s got more bullets anyway, even a magazine for loading them) and just trying to figure out who else is there. But it's silent now. They'd gotten away, maybe, or were hiding out. Good.

If Ian were to guess, she'd say Eren was likely with Jean Kirschtein, just because they'd left one after the other back in the classroom. An unlikely combination, sure, but not impossible considering he doesn't know much about their relationship. He shoots into the bushes one more time, and motions for Rico to stand. In the newfound silence, they gather their things and move on too.

* * *

“I’ve always wanted to come back to the ocean and show you guys,” Armin Arlert says quietly, looking out at where the first rays of sun are peeking out over the horizon. “But not like this.”

He’s sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest in the tall, sandy grass. Below him, the waves crash against the face of the cliffs. Mikasa Ackerman stands above and slightly behind him, arms crossed and short dark hair blowing in the salty wind. He imagines that they’d make quite the postcard, posed like this.

Of course, there are the little things to ruin the picture perfectness of it all. Like the guard ships that are posted a couple hundreds yards out and a uniform distance from each other, likely surrounding the island. Or the antique dagger (it even still has rust on the blade) clenched in Mikasa’s right hand, only slightly out of sight. Or their silver collars.

He’d caught Mikasa absently tugging at hers twice already, and both times Armin had knocked her hand away. He was constantly feeling the overwhelming urge to do the same, but he refused.

They’d been up all night, and heard three, maybe four different sets of distant gunfire, one of which had been accompanied by a scream. Things had quieted down by five AM, for which  he knows he should be glad, but four sets of gunfire means there are people already playing. Four sets of gunfire means four people are probably dead. And that doesn’t take into account the silent weapons too--knives like Mikasa’s and spring-loaded police batons like Armin’s.

 _No quick death with this thing_ , he’d thought when he’d seen it. Good for maybe stunning someone in close quarters

Although it should go without saying, he hates this game.

“Think Eren’s okay?” he adds, turning around to look at her. Mikasa shrugs.

“Knowing him, he’s probably sprinting to wherever he hears bullets,” she says. “Trying to spread the good word of teamwork and rebellion.”

Armin’s stomach lurches, both at the notion and her briskness. “You don’t think he’s--”

“I don’t know.” She taps her watch. “We’ll find out in a second anyway.”

Right on cue, there’s the sound of speakers crackling to life and Kaney Ackerman’s voice blares out.

* * *

_31 students remaining_

 


	6. comes with the dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sun rises on the first day.

Armin stays seated and Mikasa stays standing as Kaney Ackerman clears his throat.

“Good morning, students, it is now six AM.” Kaney’s voice, still low and rough, is even more nonchalant than it had been in the classroom. It sounds like it’s coming from all around, but Armin can’t see any speakers. “For our first announcement, we’ll start with your dead friends.”

Mikasa closes her eyes, going very still. Armin wants to comfort her in some way, but he’s frozen too, just waiting.

“Let’s see. Since you have been released, there have been the deaths of student number 5, Hannah Ballard; student number 12, Mina Carolina; and student number 13, Franz Chandler.” Kaney makes a vague noise that could mean anything. “That’s impressive.” A compliment.

Armin just feels sick. Three. Three of his classmates are dead. He can see their faces in his mind’s eye, smiling and very much alive.

And confirmation that people are playing. That’s great. Dandy.

This game feels so much more real now. There are killers out there.

“Now for the new forbidden areas,” Kaney continues. “First, J2, forbidden at 7 AM on the dot. Next, F1, forbidden at 9 AM on the dot. And last, H8, forbidden at 11 AM on the dot. These are exact times, students, so start moving out--or moving in, if you need anything. See you again at noon, kiddos.”

It’s quiet again. Armin exhales. Mikasa is silent, finally sitting down next to him. She reaches into her daypack and pulls out the class list and the map. She starts with the list, and her pencil hovers over the small box next to Hannah’s name.

A checklist. They’ve been supplied with _checklists_.

Armin opens his mouth to ask her not to check it off (he knows they need to keep track of the dead somehow, but not by some sort of hit list), but she reacts before he can.

Slowly and deliberately, Mikasa draws a little star in Hannah’s box, then Mina’s, then Franz’s. “You think they were together?” she asks softly, focusing on shading them in. “Hannah and Franz. Maybe they suicided.”

Armin recalls the first gunshots they’d heard. Close enough together that it might have been one person being attacked, but more likely two. “They might have been together,” he agrees. “But I don’t think they suicided.”

Mikasa nods and sighs. “Did you hear him call them our friends?”

“Because they are.” Armin’s already sick of this. The game had been going on for not even five hours at this point and three kids are already dead. Five counting Lynne and Henning.

“They are, but…” Her brow is furrowed; she looks frustrated. “In the classroom, he called them our enemies.” She’s moved onto the map now and is working on shading in the new forbidden zones (they’re in A8, still safe). “He’s calling them our enemies to get us to kill each other, and when we do, he wants to go, ‘Wow, you kiddos murdered your own friends. _Impressive_.’”

Armin hadn’t even picked up on that. And Mikasa had never been one to look for the deeper meaning in words. The roles are already reversing.

“You think that’s why Levi didn’t want to wait for us?” he asks. She shrugs.

“Who knows?” she murmurs, still not looking at him. “Point is, he didn’t. He might even be playing.”

Armin bites his lip. The idea that anyone is playing is by itself abhorrent, and Levi had never seemed like the kind of person who would put his safety over everyone else’s. But there’s really no other reason he can think of to explain why Levi would rather be alone.

“Then we can’t concern ourselves with finding him,” Armin says. “Not even if we figure out a way to escape.”

Mikasa peeks at him through her curtain of hair. “Which we will.”

* * *

Clear across the island, Levi Ackerman is almost shaking with rage (and maybe a bit of fear, though he’d never admit it, not even to himself). The announcements have just ended, and memories are coming back full force.

The first time Levi had heard Kaney Ackerman’s voice, he was young, only about four or five years old, and coloring on the floor under the kitchen table right at his father’s feet. He remembers the sound of their front door being knocked down, the pounding feet, his father’s surprised shout as he stood, an unfamiliar man’s voice saying something about anti-whatever, and lastly a gunshot, then another and another––not that he’d recognized them as for what they were at the time. He’d seen his father’s body fall.

Levi had stayed frozen underneath the table throughout it, the crayon in his hand broken from pressing down too hard. The red dot on his paper had looked like the new holes in his father’s shirt.

He’d remained perfectly still even when a face came into his view, and he was being lifted out from underneath the table onto someone’s lap, someone who had taken his father’s seat. The man had said something like, “Sorry you had to see that, buddy,” but even as barely more than a toddler, Levi had recognized it as bullshit. He still hadn’t moved, silently staring at the body on the floor as casual conversation went on over his head. It had probably been a traumatic experience, but Levi thinks he'd been too young and confused to remember it as such.

Past that, there’d been his mother’s scream when she’d finally come from work, her snatching him from the man, her weeping, her enraged shouting––she’d flipped _out_ ––and her holding him much too tight. He guesses she’d thrown out their kitchen table and chairs sometime after, because growing up he doesn’t remember having one outside of that experience.

What he does remember is his mother spending the next seven years fighting tooth and nail to get them relocated out of Stohess, farther out of the government’s reach. And every so often, maybe twice a year, that man would show up at his house, probably to terrorize his mom for kicks. It had taken a while, but Levi had eventually learned that the man who’d killed his father was his uncle Kaney Ackerman, a very high ranking government official. He also suspected the murder was a personal thing, but he didn’t get any confirmation for that.

He’d never gotten a good look at his face before now. But Levi doubts he’ll ever forget that voice.

So. He hadn’t seen/heard this man in six years––since they’d moved to Trost and _finally_ got a dining table––and here he is. Still the same sadistic fuck, now heading the childmurder games.

Levi hates him. He wants him dead.

Right now, though, he has to concern himself with finding somewhere else to settle. He’s in the soon-to-be forbidden J2, at the southernmost tip of the island. According to the small LED screen on the device in his hand, he’s the only one in the area. It’s what he’d been given instead of a weapon, a kind of GPS that seems to pick up all the other collars on the island, not just his. It’s useful, probably even more useful than a weapon. According to it, he’d been absolutely alone since entering the area.

He’s going to use this to keep it that way.

Levi’s not really sure of what his plan is for the Program yet, but at least with this he can keep out of everyone’s way until he figures something out.

* * *

Saltines and water. What a well-rounded meal.

Eren’s pretty sure this is just another cruel joke on behalf of whoever had packed the bags, right up there with that morbid checklist and the cheap plastic watches set seven minutes behind. With only a liter of water, they already have to carefully ration it, so of course the only food they’re going to get is just going to make them dehydrate that much faster.

“Here.” Jean, munching on a handful of crackers, pulls a strawberry breakfast bar out of his own duffel and tosses it to Eren. “So you don’t have to drink as much water.”

Eren glances at it and then throws it back. “Save them for when we’re almost out,” he says. “When we can’t eat the crackers anymore.”

“We’ll run out of water faster if we don’t start eating these now.” Jean rips open the pack and hands Eren half. “I’m not going to let you faint from dehydration in two days time, because I doubt the water is going to last that long. We haven’t had anything since dinner yesterday. Come on.”

Eren actually hadn’t eaten since having a brownie after school yesterday; even though they didn’t need to be back at school till seven-thirty, his dad had been working nearly that late and barely made it home in time to pick up his children and drop them off for their trip. He and Mikasa were used to taking care of themselves for dinner, but neither of them had felt like bothering.

So Eren takes the piece he’s being given and crams more crackers into his mouth.

It’s just past seven o’clock on Saturday morning, and they’re pretty safe for now. After being shot at last night, they’d only ventured a couple hundred feet away from their original spot, neither of them wanting to stumble around in the dark woods for long or fuss with their flashlights to see the maps. So they’d plunked down somewhere and stayed awake and alert till the sun came up. Only then did they start moving again.

The maps had been easy enough to figure out, thankfully; the ground had detailed contours, buildings were relative to each other, the roads seemed to be accurate, and there was even a key and scale. They’re now settled in D3, hidden by shrubbery but still with good visibility all around them. Downhill, where the ground levels out after the steep slope, there’s an open field, and farther up, there’s thicker brush. That had actually been where Jean insisted they stay, but Eren had refused. Other people in the area would want better cover too, and he’s not interested in meeting any other students, especially not so soon after being shot at.

“So,” Jean says, taking a swig of water. “First priority is finding Marco, Armin, Mikasa, and Levi, right?”

Eren nods. He’s not terribly concerned about finding any of them, since he knows they can all take care of themselves (especially since the latter three are together and likely hunkered down somewhere), but he really wants to find them before too many people have died. Preferably by tomorrow morning, so the second part can get in motion. “You get your tablet from Marco so you can figure out a way to hack into the system. You’re sure you can get in?”

Eren expects him to start boasting about his skills, but Jean’s hazel eyes are unusually dark. “I’m pretty sure I can,” he says slowly. “We should try to find a house so I can get onto that Wi-Fi, but yeah. Probably.”

“You’ll manage,” Eren says confidently. He doesn’t know the extent of Jean’s hacking talent, but he does know that ever since he’d met him three years ago, Jean always knew more about computers and technology than anyone in the room. Probably not impressive in the grand scheme, but this is a life or death situation. He’ll figure something out. “So once you’ve done that, you’ll be able to see where all the collars are, right? And once you’ve got that, we can get on with gathering everyone.”

“Probably.” Jean is rubbing his collar. Eren reaches out to smack his hand away. “Look, people are already playing the game. Three people are dead, and someone was shooting at us only a few hours ago. How are we going to know who’s still friendly and who’s… not?”

“We have to have faith in everyone, Jean.” Eren crosses his arms tightly across his chest. “Whoever shot at us clearly wasn’t interested in landing a kill, and for all we know, people had just run into each other and gotten startled. Besides, can you really imagine anyone here going out of their way to kill people?”

“That isn’t the point, Eren. The point is, we need to be careful about approaching people. Especially if they’ve got guns and startle easy.”

Eren’s about to counter that--of course they’d be careful--when he hears the bushes to his left start rustling.

Someone else is here. Jean freezes and goes white. Eren reaches for his knife, wondering how quickly he could get to the gun (since Jean’s not going to do anything about it). The rustling gets closer and closer.

A cat emerges from the bushes. It’s thin with gray fur, and goes straight to Jean, who breathes a sigh of relief.

“Oh my God,” he says, reaching for the animal. “I thought someone was there.”

Eren doesn’t answer. He looks out to where the cat had come, then looks up.

Standing there, just thirty feet away, is someone wearing the same dark green tracksuit that marks them as a student of Trost High School on an educational outing. It’s Gunther Schulz, Levi’s friend from the cross-country team. He’s holding a knife.

Jean dives for his bag but Eren’s already on his feet, his knife out of its sheath and aimed. That sets it off. Gunther starts running.

* * *

Eren Jaeger sees his life flash before his eyes.

He blocks Gunther’s initial strike with his knife and ducks, but the blade clips his ear as he does so. He thinks--pretty hysterically--that wow, it’s exactly where he’d wanted a piercing a few years ago.

The next blow Eren barely manages to stop, and it cuts open his cheek. He drops his own knife now, because wrestling with Gunther is hard enough without having to make sure he doesn’t stab his own self through the face too. And then he finds himself running backwards over the steep slope.

No one has said a word. Not Eren, not Gunther, not even Jean, still uphill.

The hill grows steeper, Eren runs faster, and Gunther’s still trying to force the knife into his head. Gunther’s bigger and heavier than he is, and while Eren’s good at basic self-defense, wrestling isn’t his strong point at any means.

In desperation, he tries to kick Gunther’s feet out from under him, but he loses his balance, they both lose their balance, and then they’re tumbling down the hill.

And Eren still manages to hold onto Gunther’s wrists. The fall is chaotic, and the whole time he’s pushing the sharp object away from him.

It works a little too well. At the bottom of the hill, when they’ve stopped, Eren realies that Gunther’s stopped fighting. And the reason for that is… Eren had ended up forcing the blade of the knife into his throat, just above the collar. The blood is dripping on him. He lets go and moves out from under the body.

“Eren? Eren!” Jean sounds pretty frantic, running down the slope to him. It’s then that Eren realizes that this whole exchange hadn’t even taken a minute. Not even half a minute. He gets to his feet, shaking, then looks at Gunther’s corpse. He remembers Lynne, still lying on the classroom floor, still with that knife stuck in her head with no one to take it out.

He swallows hard, then takes hold of this knife’s handle. Gunther’s eyes, wide open and glazed, stare up at him. He pulls.

The knife comes out easily, slicked with red but gleaming silver underneath. His stomach rolls and he drops it, still shaking. Oh, man. Oh, man.

“Eren, come on.” Jean’s tugging on him now, leading him away. Eren lets him.

* * *

“Why didn’t you shoot him?” Eren asks.

They’re sitting back on the bushes, where their stuff had been; the cat is long gone. Jean pulls a t-shirt out of his duffel bag and reaches for his water bottle. Using it to dampen the cloth, he takes a calming breath. Right now, getting Eren cleaned up is top priority. It just means he has to be a little more careful from now on, at least until they get to a house with running water.

“Jean,” Eren says, as Jean reaches out to clamp a hand on top of Eren’s head.

“I heard you,” he says, starting to wipe the blood off Eren’s cheek and neck. There’s a lot of it, already soaking into the collar of his track jacket. “I just didn’t want to hit you,okay? And it happened so fast…” He clenches his teeth, briefly. “I panicked.” Just like he did last night. “Hold still.”

Eren obediently stiffens his neck. It’s a bad cut; every time Jean wipes some blood away, more comes gushing out. And there’s also the matter of Jean not really being sure of just how clean his shirt is.

But mostly, what bothers him is the flat look in Eren’s eyes. Inwardly, Jean sighs. “Look,” he says. “Save the breakdown for later. Gunther made the choice to play and he died from it. Yeah, you probably set him off by pulling that knife, but when it gets down to it, Gunther made a choice.”

“Yeah.” Eren turns slightly away and Jean sees the knife must have clipped his ear too. Ugh. “I get it. You have to fight to live. Gunther and I fought and I won. It’s done.”

_Not really_. Jean remembers how terrified he’d been when Eren had been attacked. It was just like the incident several hours ago; he’d freezed up, trying to aim but not being able to just pull the trigger already, even when Eren was in the process of being murdered. Even if he had been able to get a clear shot (which he hadn’t, he really had been afraid he’d accidentally hit Eren), he doubts he could have actually brought himself to fire. Even if Gunther had killed Eren and come for him next, he’s not sure if he could have done it.

Jean rips open a box of Band-Aids (the only means of first aid supplied in the daypack, not even some gauze or rubbing alcohol. Because Band-Aids are great for knife and gunshot wounds) and gets to work plastering several on Eren’s cheek, trying to hold the cut closed. “Yeah,” he says. “Easy.”

* * *

_30 students remaining_


End file.
